


From Mrs. Petunia Dursley

by ReCreso



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 21:04:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16940706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReCreso/pseuds/ReCreso
Summary: Harry and Ginny have recently married and moved in together; they now live nearby the Burrow. One day, Harry receives a letter from a Muggle postman: it's from aunt Petunia.





	From Mrs. Petunia Dursley

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first work ever on this platform (and one of the few things I've ever written in general). I suppose that countless stories have been written on the subject, but I wanted to give it a try after re-reading and re-watching the HP saga.  
> I'm not completely familiar with English ortography rules when it comes to fiction and novels, so please excuse me for any mistake I might have made.

‘Is anybody home?’

The voice came from the outside. Harry could not recognise it; nonetheless, he had cast some spells on the house, and so he immediately knew that it came from a Muggle.  
What could a Muggle possibly want from them?

Ginny and Harry had married just recently, and they had moved in together in Ottery St Catchpole, so that they could live near the Burrow. Ginny had asked Harry if he’d rather live in Godric’s Hollow, but he had told her that he wanted to live near the Weasleys. What would have been the point, anyways? Nobody was waiting for him at Godric’s Hollow, and that place was too full of grim reminders. Not to mention that they would have been constantly annoyed by wizards and witches coming to see where The Boy Who Lived, well, lived – and where he _used_ to live.  
Ottery St Catchpole was definitely better.   
While their house wasn’t in town, Muggles still knew about it: they went to the town every now and then, and pretending not to live there would have been unnecessarily troublesome. No Muggle had ever come to pay them a visit, though... until then.

‘Good morning’, he said, walking up to the man who stood at the entrance of his garden. He was... the postman?  
‘Good morning, sir. Are you Mr. Harry Potter?’  
Harry nodded.  
‘Oh, thank God! I’ve been looking for you for a while. I have a letter for you. There is no precise address on it, though, so it took some time – had to ask people in town if they knew about any Potter living nearby – but well, at last, here it is.’ He handed him a letter. Harry took it.  
‘Thank you very much,’ said Harry. ‘I’m sorry you had to go through all that trouble for me,’ he added. Was his address even known to Muggle authorities? He actually wasn’t sure about that.  
‘You’re welcome, sir,’ replied the postman, with a polite smile; then, he left.  
Harry looked at him walking away for a while, still surprised for the letter.  
Oh, right, the letter.  
He read the sender’s name on the envelope.  
... no, that couldn’t be real. He had clearly misread.  
He read it again.

  
_From Mrs. Petunia Dursley_  
_To Mr. Harry Potter_  
_Ottery St Catchpole, Devon_

 

He went back in. Ginny wasn’t home: she was at the Burrow, helping Molly with something.  
He sat down in awe. It took him some minutes to realise that he hadn’t read the letter yet.  
_This must be an error. I can’t believe this_ , he thought.  
At last, he opened the envelope and read the letter.

_Dear Harry –_

“Dear Harry”? That had to be the first time aunt Petunia had ever said that, albeit in a letter.

_Dear Harry,_

_I hope this finds you well._  
_I am sorry to bother you, but we need you for some legal matters. You see, since you’ve lived with us for so many years..._

And he hoped he could forget that one day...

_... the government needs some papers from us, papers that you should sign. It would be wonderful if you could bring your ID with you, or perhaps your passport._

Even from a simple letter he could tell that aunt Petunia doubted he actually had any Muggle document. Good for her that the wizarding world suggested that wizards and witches living among Muggles got themselves some kind of document to avoid any suspects – it was less troublesome than casting Confundus on countless Muggles, after all.

_Since I could not find your exact address, I’m not sure that this letter will get to you, and if it does, I don’t know when. So, I’ll be waiting for you at 5 PM on October 1st (I’m writing this on September 1st). If this letter arrives before that date and you can’t come, please let me know._

How nice of her, assuming he would care enough to go, or to tell her that he wouldn’t, for that matter. It was September 14th, so he _could_ go, but honestly...  
There were some other words written on the paper. Harry had the impression that they had been written some time after the first part.

_Of course you can bring somebody with you, if you wish. You will be welcome._

_Best regards,_  
_Aunt Petunia_

“Bring somebody”?  
Was it possible that aunt Petunia had heard about him and Ginny?  
And that they would have been _welcome?_

 

* * *

 

On October 1st, a small _crack!_ echoed through Privet Drive at 5 PM. A young man suddenly appeared on the street; not that anybody could see that man, since he was transparent.  
Harry broke the Disillusionment Charm as he walked towards the number 4’s door. There was no one to see him anyways.  
He still couldn’t believe he was actually back in Privet Drive, and that he had come there on his own foot... well, on his own wand. He really was not looking forward to that day, but during the last week he had caught himself just wishing for October 1st to come already, so that he could sign whatever paper the Dursleys needed him to sign and go back home. Ginny was willing to come with him, but he had told her that it wasn’t necessary, and it really wasn’t: he just wanted to end that as quickly as possible. No need to introduce her wonderful witch wife to his quite not wonderful aunt.

He thought about leaving at least three times while walking through the garden. What could they possibly need from him, after all? He had never heard about any Muggle authorities caring about him when he lived with the Dursleys... although Ginny had explained him that there were, in fact, some procedures at the Ministry to “cover” Muggleborns who went to Hogwarts, in case someone got suspicious; which was understandable, since they were just normal children to Muggles.  
And so was Harry. But now? Why did he have to be in that awful place once again?  
He rang the doorbell.  
He heard some footsteps, then the door was opened; aunt Petunia stood before him, with a simple dress and a faint smile.  
‘Hi.’  
‘Good evening, Harry. Good to see you again.’  
Harry didn’t bother to reply to that.  
Aunt Petunia’s smile wavered. ‘So, well... come in, would you?’  
She moved aside and Harry Potter entered the house at Private Drive number 4 again, after four years.  
‘Let’s go to the living room’, said aunt Petunia. She followed her there; a teapot and two cups were waiting for them on the table.  
‘I’ve just made tea... you’re perfectly on time, so it should still be piping hot, but if you want I can...’  
‘It’ll be fine’, Harry interrupted her. Then he added: ‘If anything, I can easily make it hot again, you know.’  
And he smiled; it wasn’t a very nice smile, nor a very nice thing to say. He knew that aunt Petunia would understand that he meant that he could use magic to heat up the tea: real magic, with a real wand, from a real wizard, in her precious, clean, ordinary house.  
And in fact, aunt Petunia shuddered a little, but all she replied was: ‘Oh, y-yes... of course you can.’  
They sat down. Aunt Petunia poured him some tea, then filled her own cup. It really was still piping hot, Harry noticed.  
‘Aren’t Vernon and Dudley home?’ asked Harry. Not that he wanted to meet them – quite the opposite – but if they were there, he would have rather know. To be fair, after Dudley’s last words to him (“I don’t think you’re a waste of space”, which surely was as affectionate as he could get), he didn’t mind meeting him at all: he doubted they would ever be friends, but they could at least be on good terms, couldn’t they?  
‘No, they’re not. Dudley left last year, and Vernon is still at work – although I think he must be on his way home now...’  
‘Well, let’s be quick and sign those papers, then,’ said Harry. ‘I’m sure he’d rather not see me here.’  
Aunt Petunia’s mouth moved to form what was supposed to be a smile. It was obvious that she really couldn’t bring herself to tell a polite and blatant lie and deny what Harry had just said.  
_She’s really nervous_ , Harry noticed. _She must hate having an adult wizard here... or, well,_ this _adult wizard_.  
While he was thinking this, aunt Petunia had rose from her chair to get some papers from a drawer, which she then put on the table.  
Harry put the cup down.  
‘Where should I sign?’  
Aunt Petunia pointed at some blank spaces on the documents. Harry didn’t even bother to read what they were about: Muggle affairs didn’t affect him anymore. He took the pen aunt Petunia was handing him and wrote “Harry James Potter” everywhere he was asked to. That didn’t take more than three minutes.  
‘So, are we finished?’ he asked.  
Aunt Petunia nodded lightly.  
‘Goodbye then.’  
He walked out of the living room and towards the door; while going through the corridor, he noticed the cupboard where he had lived for ten years. He hadn’t paid any attention to that while coming in, but now that he had seen that again he felt anger rising inside him. Perhaps he should have Disapparated right there, still in the house, just to make aunt Petunia feel a bit sick... that would have been low, but oh, those years in that cupboard...  
‘I’m sorry.’  
Harry turned around. Aunt Petunia was standing right outside the living room, staring at him. Her eyes looked... sad?  
‘What?’ said Harry, whose voice sounded quite surprised.  
‘I’m sorry. For... for the cupboard. And for... well, you... I mean, for everything. Everything we... _I_ have done to you.’  
If Lord Voldemort had appeared right in front of him, tap-dancing in a pink tuxedo, Harry would have been less shocked.  
‘Are... are you...’ he muttered, but he couldn’t actually think of anything to say. “Are you on medications by any chance?” was the closest thing to what he was thinking in that moment.  
‘I’ve been wanting to tell you since... since when you left,’ continued aunt Petunia; her voice cracked a little. ‘But that time... I was alone... I mean, alone with you, in the room, you see... and we were leaving because of – of _them_...’  
Harry stood there, still speechless. Aunt Petunia finally found the courage to look at him directly into the eyes.  
‘I was... horrible, truly horrible. I think that’s because of... of Lily... magic had taken her away from me when she went to Hogwarts, then it took her away forever when that, that horrible, loathsome, _disgusting Voldemort_ –’ Harry was even more shocked by the pain and hatred he had just felt in aunt Petunia’s voice; she stopped talking for a moment. ‘When he took her away from me... forever... and left just... just you...’  
Silence.  
‘Lily and I, we were really close, you know,’ she started again. ‘We’ve always been... well, until she found out that she was a witch, that is. I was jealous, I can’t deny it... but I could have lived with that, with my witch sister... if it had been just that. But no, there was Hogwarts... and the wizarding world... and of course, I know, that was where she was meant to be... her destiny, if you will.’  
‘She would have never wanted to cut you out of her life,’ stated Harry, finally finding something to say. His voice sounded harsher than he meant to: he had seen something in Snape’s memories... not too much, to be fair... but he had.  
Aunt Petunia smiled, bringing her hands to her eyes to clear them from tears.  
‘Of course she wouldn’t,’ she replied, almost laughing.  
Once more, silence.  
Then aunt Petunia spoke again. ‘I hope it wasn’t too annoying, coming here just for those papers... but you see, we needed...’  
‘It’s fine,’ said Harry. He suddenly suspected that those papers weren’t needed as much as his aunt had been claiming – if they were needed at all. Now he wished he had read them.  
‘Well, then... I’ll be going now.’  
Aunt Petunia nodded and put on a faint smile again. ‘Ah, yes, sure... thank you for coming.’  
Harry smiled back to her – his smile wasn’t any brighter than hers – then he walked outside.  
‘Harry?’  
He turned back. Aunt Petunia was looking at him, standing on the doorstep.  
‘Yes, aunt Petunia?’  
‘You... you know... if you’d like to have a cup of tea, sometime...’ She couldn’t finish her sentence.  
Harry looked at her trying to put on a smile and fight back tears, talking to him from the place he had hated the most in his whole life... the place where he had never been welcome, the _person_ that had never welcomed him...  
Harry couldn’t believe it when he heard his own voice saying: ‘I should have some free time next month.’

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this didn't come off as too OOC, but I've always wondered if Petunia, at least, had ever felt some remorse for what she had done, together with her dreadful husband. Thank you for reading!


End file.
